I Did It

Shotgun shells hot in my mouth
Bounce across the floor of calamity
A more sensible bird than I would fly south
When the key turns to unlock a vacation home's worth
Of trauma much in need of marie kondoing.

The musty smell of all that ended
And all that will end in an uncertain future
Fill my friends' nostrils as they visit
And tend to my broken heart
Dressing wounds they cannot see.

And here I am, alone, floated by the love
Of everyone and the person I cry for.
Because love is a victim of circumstance,
And happiness is no more than a prayer,
They say, "leave your heavy heart behind."

"It gets easier. Next year will be your oyster,"
They promise pearls in lieu of wisdom,
Unaware of the guilt that incubates,
The fight between good and evil diminished
By my own selfish suffering.